Page 49 of Brimstone

The high blood turned to me for the first time, the icy cold weight of his attention pressing down on me. I was too taken aback by what Lorreth had called me to care much about the male’s distasteful sneer, though.

Sister.

He had called me hissister.

“I don’t even waive the rules for my own kind,” the male seethed. “What makes you think I’d waive them for the likes ofyou?”

“My handsome face?”

The high blood gave Lorreth a look that could have stripped the flocked wallpaper from the walls.

“No? All right then. What about this?” The warrior reached back over his shoulder and drew Avisiéth, setting the engraved sword down onto the bar with a clunk.

The high blood’s eyes shuttered momentarily, but I had to give it to him. He had balls. He didn’t balk for long at the sight of all that sharpened silver. “We accept coin or blood.” He paused, assessing Lorreth, and then said, “Blood is preferred.”

“Go fuck yourself, tick. The only way you’re getting at my blood is if you drain it from me yourself.”

The high blood perked up. “That could be arranged.”

“You’ll have to kill me first,” Lorreth added, baring his teeth.

The high blood folded his arms across his chest, pursing his lips. “It’s high treason to draw silver in Sanasroth, you realize. What is your name, Faeling? Who is your master?”

A harsh bark of laughter burst out of Lorreth. “My name is Lorreth of the Broken Spires. And I have no master.”

At last, the high blood’s imperious scowl faded away. There was something oddly satisfying about watching him slowly begin to panic. “Only thralls are permitted here. Ungoverned Fae aren’t welcome.” He took a step back from the bar top.

“Don’t worry. We’ll leave once we’ve enjoyed a carafe of your finest Lìssian red.”

Two more high bloods had risen from the nearest table and had come to stand behind us. They were both male and significantly bigger than the vampire behind the bar. One laid a hand on Lorreth’s shoulder. “You seem to have forgotten where your kind stand on the food chain around here, warm blood,” the one on the right said. A thick, silvered scar ran down his right cheek. “Errigan told you to leave. Get up, right now, and we might give you a head start before—”

I knew it was coming.

Watching it happen was still shocking, though.

Lorreth left Avisiéth where she sat on the bar. Didn’t even touch her. He became a black blur as he spun and launched out of his seat. One moment, the scarred high blood had been trying to pull the warrior back, off the stool, and the next, his hand was no longer attached to his wrist. Lorreth had it inhishand. Ichor spurted and sprayed from the high blood’s wrist (now a meaty stump). The high blood looked down, opened his mouth to scream, and Lorreth jammed the male’s hand down his own throat, fingers first.

I staggered back into a stool, nearly losing my footing. “Holy fuck!Lorreth!”

“What in all five hells is goingonhere?”

The music that had been playing when we’d entered stopped. Leaden silence blanketed the tavern as everyone turned to look at the newcomer. Taladaius stood by the tavern’s entrance. A dark figure in a cloak stood beside him, angled toward the exit, their hood drawn up to conceal their features.

Lorreth stiffened, a dark look forming on his face. He took a step toward Taladaius, but the Lord of Midnight held up a hand, closing his eyes in frustration. “Wait there, Lore. You’re covered in blood and not fit for polite company.” Taladaius spoke quickly to the stranger in the cloak. Even with my vastly improved hearing, I couldn’t make out a word. If I wasn’t mistaken, a soundproof shield had temporarily gone up around the two of them.

The cloaked stranger nodded and left without a backward glance, leaving Taladaius standing in the tavern doorway. As always, his clothes were immaculate, his silver hair was swept back, not a strand out of place, but his eyes were wild, his nostrils flared, and his usual composure was compromised. “When I heard you’d left the palace, I knew trouble would find the two of you. But I didn’t think you’d be reckless enough to golookingfor it.”

“Lord.” Errigan—the other high blood had called the vampire behind the bar by that name—lowered his head, averting his eyes from Taladaius. “I didn’t expect you yet. We haven’t tallied the night’s tithing. Apologies. If you give me a moment—”

“I don’t care about the tithe, Errigan. I care about the pool of rapidly growing blood on my tavern floor, and the fact that one of my regulars is currently choking on his own hand. Care to explain what’s going on here?”

Mytavern floor? This place belonged to Taladaius?

My sire looked fit to burst a blood vessel as he stepped over the pool of blood and planted his hands against the bar top. “Well?”

“The male was causing trouble,” Errigan muttered.

Taladaius squinted sidelong at Lorreth. “Is that true?”